Ye pow'rs above!-Can holy angels weep
If fo, here is enough to move their grief,
To fee the Savior die! Yet men remain
Hard-hearted, void of true regard to him,
And hear the melancholy tale unmov’d.
They weep to hear the puppets of the stage
Defcribe, in tragic tone, the wounds and deaths
Of lovers, heroes, patriots, and kings ;
Who ne'er perhaps exifted, but in fiction;
Or if they did exist, their lives and fortunes
Might be far diff'rent from the tales we hear:
Which frequently are but poetic flights,
And owe their grandeur to the writer's pen..
But grant them true, they cannot us concern:
We have no int'reft in the various fcenes
Through which they pafs'd; to us, 'twould be the fame
If they had never been. While here, alas!
Where truth furpaffes fable, and needs not
Invention, or imagination, to fupply
The want of facts to decorate the fong;
Cold, and unmov'd as ftatutes, we remain !
Here is a character contains the whole
That e'er was pictur'd lovely, in the tales
Of all that ever liv'd or dy'd on earth.
Are you for fcenes of love? Such fcenes are here 950
As ne'er were equall'd, and much less excell'd.
The Son of God in love with human kind,
Took flesh and blood, and, cloth'd in that difguife,
Went through fuch hardships, and fuch deep distress,
As ne'er were fabled of the fondeft lovers!
That he might gain our love, and fhew his own.
Or are you charm'd with patriots, who efpoufe
Their country's caufe, and perish in th' attempt
To free their nation from fome tyrant's pow'r ?
Behold in Chrift the truest patriotism !
He brav'd all dangers undertook the caufe
Not of one country, but of all mankind :
Nor yet of thofe who lov'd him, who would fhout
His praises loud, and trumpet forth his fame;
But thofe very wretches who despis'd
His perfon, fet at nought his works of love,
Nor ever felt the smallest gratitude
To him who lov'd them, labor'd for their good,
Sought to deliver them from flavery,
And struggling hard with hofts of cruel foes. 970
Although he gain'd his point, it coft his life.
The greatest heroes never equall'd this. !
In Christ the lover, hero, patriot meet,
Their virtues all in him confpicuous fhine;
He merits our applaufe far more than all
That ever have thofe characters fuftain'd:
Yet we forget him ;. O ingratitude!
But he remember'd us upon the cross,
And hath not yet forgot us, though we treat
His dying love with fuch unkindness cold!
Here, melt my heart at thought of what I've been, And what the Savior hath perform'd for me. I've been a rebel, he my dying friend! Me he remember'd, him I've oft forgot, Though he was worthy the regard of all,
And I unworthy of the fmallest notice
L'en of mankind, and how much more of his !
But this
my
How can my heart be ever pacify'd?
Methinks my forrows now begin to flow:
O might they ever bleed, fince Jefus dy'd!
Yea dy'd for fuch a treacherous foul as mine,
Why did he suffer death for such a worm ? -
O never, never, can I mourn enough!
The lovely One is gone, hath left our world;
The Prince of perfect beauty now hath fall'n ;
And the most valuable of all lives
friend is dead! Shall I not mourn ?
Is taken, (rather fay is giv'n) for men.
O could my fingers touch the mournful keys, How fad, how folemn, fhould the tones be play'd ! Or could my tongue, like Jeremy's, lament, The plantive strain should swell! My Savior's dead! But pity me ye foft and tender hearts,
Whofe tears, faft trickling, can affuage your grief; Mine ftruggles hard for vent! no common woe 1005 Works in my breaft, which heaves the pensive sigh, Almoft to big for birth. The theme 1 fing Should ne'er be mention'd by a careless tongue. And can a heart of ftone forbear to melt When fuch a tale as this prefents to view? No fiction's here, but all is naked fact, In which our deareft interefts are involv'd. (0 that we felt and realiz'd it more!) Christ dy'd for you, upon the cross expir'd; Believe and fympathize, adore and love.
My foul, no more forget thy Savior's love,
His life and death remember: O the fweat
In the fad garden! and the agony
Upon the fatal tree! the melting words!
The piercing groans! the deep heart-breaking fighs!
The stripes, the thorny crown, the wounds, the blood!
The mockings! infults! thirst! and dying pangs!
Let these be all remember'd; nor forget
The part thy fins have had in wounding him.
But oh how feeble are my best efforts!
I want an angel's talents to difplay
This awful theme, the dying of the Lord.
I need the learned's tongue to fpeak of this ;.
I find myself unequal to the task.
But I'm no feigned mourner, hir'd to cry.
My grief is real: I fincerely weep,
Though my tongue fails my forrows to exprefs.
The deepest woe is fad and filent oft,
Not finding language fuited to its grief.
Here then I'll ftand in filence, and furvey
The corpfe of Jesus-moft affecting fight
But fee the friends of the deceased come To take the body from the bloody crofs; For they have begg'd it as their dearest boon. Pray, who is there?-Good Jofeph, rich and juft, A member of the great Sanhedrim; who Had waited for the kingdom of his God : Had not confented to the bloody deed, The murder of the Savior; but withdrew,
When all his int'reft could not fave that life 1045*
Which was to him fo dear. For, you must know,
That he was Chrift's difciple in his heart,
But had not overcome the fear of man,
And therefore fecretly to him adher'd.
But in the time of need he fhews himself:
In greatest danger he is bolder grown.
When boldeft foldiers flee, the tim'rous ftand.
Now he could boldly go to Pilate's face.
And ask him for the body of the Lord;
The wrath of Jews and Gentiles fears no more. 1055 But who is that with him? Know you that man? 'Tis Nicodemus ; 'tis the very fame
Who came to Jefus at the firit by night.
How is he alter'd for the better much!
How ignorant was he! wife is he now !
How fearful then was he! but now how bold!
And yet this change came on by flow degrees.
How many fpeak against thefe fecret friends!
These night-difciples, ignorant and weak ;
These timid ones, afraid to own their thoughts; 1065
Afham'd to own their fentiments, or love,
Through fear of lofing friends, and gaining foes;
Who feem to want ftability of mind;
Appear to act an inconfiftent part.
Such I may pity, but fhall ne'er defpife
Too well their fears and feelings I have known."
Let thofe who, through an overheated zeal,
Defpife fuch characters (for fuch there are)
Remember Nicodemus, and his like
Encourage; for they may be bold at last.
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